


Coffee

by indigospacehopper



Series: Coffee Co. Collection [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Smut, Innuendo, John is a git, John really likes annoying Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, a bit too much, prejohnlock, sherlock is grumpy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigospacehopper/pseuds/indigospacehopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson hates his job working at Coffee Co., but he loves taunting the mysterious bloke who always gets annoyed when he spells his name wrong. </p><p>Teenlock|Johnlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On November 9th, John Watson started his job at Coffee Co., the well-to-do business that sat in the hearts of most respectable (and non-respectable) British high streets up and down the nation.

It was a renown company, and although many complained about the extortionate prices for what was essentially a cup of coffee: the small cafe was always inundated with customers. From parents just popping in for a natter, to bohemian hipsters searching for their next Espresso: Coffee Co., was not an entirely bad place to work.

The particular establishment in which John had taken up employment was a small, quaint little place, with lots of amber armchairs seated around tables of dark brown discolouring. Coffee hung in the air like tobacco does a smokers' lounge and the ever present knowledge that each customer was paying far too much for their drink clung to the noticeboards like a tumour that nobody dared bring up. The whole place was musty, and wouldn't have been entirely out of place in a small bazaar. Incense hung in the air, and on several occasions, the owner had been told off for the strong smells. John loved it. But what he loved more was when his favourite customer came in.

When he first started, they warned him about the Holmes lad. The same age as John, Sherlock stumbled into Coffee Co., at approximately 8:17 am every weekday before hopping on the bus to his college. There was no denying the fact that Sherlock was punctual, and there was also no debate to be had on the topic of whether or not he was good looking. Something that John had been reliably informed (by Molly Hooper; Sherlock Holmes admirer and longer,) was correct.

With this in mind, on his first shift in the hour that Sherlock usually arrived, John found him in his presence just after he'd handed over a frail old lady's double shot. He'd looked up, to see that someone, who was very obviously Sherlock, had materialised in the doorway.

He was tall, with gangly arms that somehow seemed too long for his body, despite the incredibly long legs that somehow managed to fit eloquently. A deep blue scarf hung around his neck, and adorning his hands were a pair of black leather gloves. With his dark jeans and black jacket zipped right up to his chin, his whole torso seemed at lot longer. From his shoulder hung a laptop bag made from a thick leather, which appeared to be in no way cheap. John's eyes gleamed as he raked the newcomer, trying to disguise a smile at the nature of the customer.

"Good morning, what can I get you today?" John started cheerfully, pulling out a cup from its holder. However, he hadn't gotten very far before Sherlock inevitably cut across him.

"You know what I want. I order the same thing every morning."

John blinked. His smile greeted by a sharp scowl, and for some reason, John immediately began to feel as though the gravitational pull where he was standing had increased double fold.

"Really?" he feigned, bringing the cup down to meet the counter. "Well, I think you need to re-jog my memory."

Opposite him, Sherlock clenched his jaw. According to Molly, it was best not to annoy Sherlock before he'd had his morning coffee because otherwise, the grumpy adolescent would slaughter the taunter with every power his caffeine deprived mind could muster. Of course, John chose to ignore this. Every single time.

"You think you're funny," Sherlock stated, and John quickly had to work out whether he was meant to reply.

"On occasion," he reasoned, shrugging. He leant his elbows on the counter and readjusted the pen where it perched against the cup. "Come on then, give us your name."

If looks could kill, John would have died ten times over. Behind Sherlock, the queue was building at an alarming rate, and impatient customers tapped their feet impatiently on the floor. At the front of the line, however, the two bickering students weren't budging.

"You know my name," Sherlock growled, unimpressed with John's humour.

Yes, I do, John thought bitterly. You've never asked what mine is, though.

The fact of the matter was, that no matter what John tried: Sherlock just wouldn't get the message that he was flirting with him. On several occasions, he'd been dangerously close to giving up and just throwing coffee over him for being such an ignorant twerp, but he never did. John was confident, that no matter how short and irritating their conversations were; Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant person. And he wanted to know why.

"I need to write it on the cup," John told him, frowning.

"Sherlock." Came the dry response, and John scrawled the pen across the cup. He then passed it to his coworker, who'd been watching the exchange with pursed lips.

Sherlock nodded curtly and drifted off towards the collection point.

\--

John managed around two minutes of dull customers before Sherlock was back and glaring more than ever. He held the cup out for John to see, John's handwriting set squarely in his line of sight.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" John quipped, fighting back an uncontrollable grin.

"Shirley." Sherlock spat, slamming the now hot cop angrily on the counter. John raised a perplexed eyebrow. "That's not my name." He added, as though John was incapable of reading.

Sherlock's annoyance was almost too much for John, as he took a step back, pretend horror ran across his face.

"Is it not?" He whispered. "Surely you can't be serious?!"

"I am serious," Sherlock growled, hatred flashing across his face. "And don't call me Shirley."

John almost wet himself from laughing as Sherlock stormed from the cafe, taking his purchase with him.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, John thought he'd gone too far in his mission of annoying Sherlock. After storming out several days prior, John hadn't seen him once. He even considered the possibility that Sherlock was cheating on Coffee Co. with another café across town, but then decided that was stupid. Because, after all, Coffee Co. served the best coffee, and Sherlock wouldn't settle for anything lower than the best. That much John knew.

It was surprising, therefore, when on one drizzle infested Tuesday morning: Sherlock waltzed into the café with a spring in his step. John's eyes narrowed as Sherlock stepped through the doorway. Sherlock caught his eye and smiled cheerily, causing John to frown at the till while he sorted out a businessman's change. 

"He's back," John felt an elbow in his side as Sally materialised next to him, pulling a large slice of carrot cake from the cake counter. He nodded as he handed back the change. "And he's smiling at you." She added, in case John hadn't noticed. "What do you think he wants?"

John shrugged. "Coffee? Just a wild guess though, don't shoot me if I'm wrong." As he looked up, Sherlock met his eye again and waved.

"I think he's pleased to see you," Sally grinned, walking round the back of him and giving the cake to a customer. John craned his neck.

"How can you tell from here? A dozen people are blocking him. I know he's got long legs but-"

John winced as Sally smacked him over the head with her tea towel.

"Get your head out of the gutter." She scorned but laughed all the same. "Not everything is an innuendo, John. You can tell if someone's pleased to see you by their facial features, not just by their trousers." John rolled his eyes.

"One large caramel macchiato? Coming right up," he said jovially, receiving several more orders as Sally stalked away to remove some tables. Soon enough, the queue had decreased considerably, and Sherlock was one customer away.

To say that he was excited was an understatement. Sherlock had never shown the slightest interest in him before, and even though he knew that the guy was an arrogant prick, John still craved his attention. The way the dim, orange lights caused the more brunette strands of hair to tinge a slight auburn and the make the darker curls seem jet black in comparison were enough to make John's head spin. He'd only ever seen him in a scowl before, but God, he still looked good doing that. With this in mind, John was confident that if he could craft a smile from those terse lips, all would be well.

Indeed, John quickly learned to be careful what he wished. No sooner had the thoughts of what a beauty Sherlock could be if he just smiled, was the very thing upon him.

This time, he didn't lean on the counter as Sherlock stepped towards him. Instead, he pulled out a cup, elevated it slightly, and waited for Sherlock to give his order. Professionalism was paramount.

"No pleasantries today?" Sherlock started, and John couldn't quite make out his face. So much for what Sally said, he thought bitterly. On a quick inspection of Sherlock's features, John plainly saw that his mouth pulled into a tight smirk, but a frown still ran across it, making his real thoughts and feelings a tad transparent. Why couldn't he have been born a mind reader?

"Not if you don't want them, which you usually don't," John responded good-naturedly.

"Right." Sherlock nodded, before glancing away towards the menu. "I'll have an extra large 'natural blend'." He watched on thoughtfully as John scrawled it across the cup. "And with that, I'll have three espresso shots added- but I want each shot to have stood for one minute, and then added within thirteen seconds of one another. I then want three pumps of caramel sauce, spaced out equally in the cup, and then white chocolate sauce pumped in almost the same place as the caramel, only being off to the right a little bit-"

Half way through Sherlock's order, John had given up writing it down. With his pen still pressed against the cup, he looked up and glared at the exuberant customer from under furrowed brows.

"... Then I want you to pour it all out and do it again, just so that the cup has that pre-coffee feeling." The result of the tall order was a beaming Sherlock, hands clasped behind his back as he rolled happily on his heels. "Oh, and the name is Sherlock, by the way. Try to get it right this time."

Unbeknown to him, John had been standing with his mouth hanging open for the most of Sherlock's speech. Finally realising that his mouth was now dry, he shut it and licked his lips.

"Alright," he started, leaning back. "I'll just let Sally know the exact details of your order."

As he turned around, he groaned as Sherlock's voice floated towards him again.

"No, I want you to make it. This one requires a rugby player's touch. Brutal, but nimble. If you get my gist."

John ground his teeth, completely ignoring the fact that Sherlock had mentioned his rugby. He put the cup down before whipping back around to face Sherlock, who was looking a bit too pleased with himself.

"That's a stupid order," John scorned, feeling the tips of his ears grow pink as he quickly became angrier. Not with Sherlock, mind, but mainly with himself. Because no matter how much Sherlock had succeeded in pissing him off, the guy was at last smiling, and that made John want to smile too. Not that he'd permit himself to do such a thing with Sherlock present. No, if Sherlock wanted to win, he'd let him. And then come back with something equally more infuriating- if not more so.

However, as he studied him, John began to realise something. When he was pleased with himself, Sherlock's eyes twinkled. They sparkled at him, and soon enough John got lost in those magnificent things. He could feel his pulse hammering against his throat, as his heart fought to beat right out of his chest. John had crushes before, but this was something else. But the horrible feeling was, something about those vibrant blue orbs told John that Sherlock knew that he was crushing on him, and crushing on him hard.

No sooner than had he become lost in the depths of his subconscious, was John blinking hurriedly and looking away, slightly embarrassed by his sudden longing trance.

"Did I accidentally press the off-switch?" Sherlock asked, not managing to hide his smirk at all. John shook his head. "I think I did. I shan't trouble you with that order; I'll find a more competent barista somewhere else. But..." Helpless, John watched as Sherlock turned to leave, "Thank you for proving a point."

John stared at Sherlock's retreating figure.

"What point?" He yelled, growing hot in the face.

"That you," Sherlock began, turning slightly just so that John could make out his profile before he exited the café, "have the biggest crush on me that I have ever seen."

And with that, Sherlock left. Leaving a very distinctly pissed off (yet also embarrassed), John Watson in his shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting that kind of response. Thank you so much! I'm going to try and aim for five chapters, although there may be more depending on how things go. So yeah. I hope that was alright? And thank you for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So, I've added a couple of tags. It's basically me just being a bit paranoid, but just in case you were wondering, there are references to smut and all that jazz (there's no references to jazz though, sorry to disappoint you) in later chapters. Especially because John is just constantly horny, as you may have already guessed. Urm. Yeah. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

The weekend passed by slowly. Saturday and Sunday merged into one, and John worked relentlessly hard on perfecting that damn drink of Sherlock's. As his timings improved, so did the weather. Instead of the wet, sloppy mud created by the rain, the earth hardened as frost settled. It was still bitterly cold, but the sun still sliced through and managed to make everything bright. Therefore, as John hung up his coat and set to work on the first customers of the day, he felt as though nothing could dampen his spirits.

"John!"

John looked up as he heard his name yelled from across the café, and a grin settled across his face as he spotted Greg standing in the doorway.

He was average height, taller than John (although as Harry often pointed out: who wasn't?), with a great smile and an even larger heart. John had often considered trying to hook him and Molly up but had never gotten round to it.

Their friendship was a strange one; he and Greg went to different colleges and hadn't even attended the same high school or primary. They'd met a few years prior at an Under-14s football club during the summer holidays. Since leaving, John had taken up rugby, while Greg continued at the club.

It was a rare occasion that they arranged to see each other, but somehow they always managed it. Mainly at parties, Greg and John's main way of meeting up was through mutual friends. This strange social arrangement, therefore, meant that between them, they knew roughly all the students in the other's college.

To John's memory, Greg had never been in Coffee Co., favouring the standard coffee machine that his college provided. Slowly, Greg's position in the queue decreased until he was at the counter where John was serving.

"You alright?" John asked, rubbing his hands with a tea towel and throwing it over his shoulder. "What brings you to this fine establishment?"

"The coffee," Greg replied with a shrug.

"I thought you said that you would -" he brought his arms to make air quotations. "'Never buy from those rip-off cafés because they're too expensive and coffee is coffee no matter where you get it from?'" He finished, to find that Greg was smiling through a frown.

"Yeah, well, this place comes recommended." He shrugged, peering at the menu on the wall.

"Oh? Who by?"

"Well..." Greg faltered, spotting a particularly expensive drink and frowning at the cost. "Not so much the place comes recommended as a person who works here. Do you know who Molly Hooper is?"

John frowned. Molly sometimes worked the same shifts as him, although more often than not she'd work in the evening instead.

"Yeah. I do. Why?" He asked, suddenly intrigued as to how Greg knew her.

"It's kinda a long story..." Greg replied, leaning back and stretching slightly. He still seemed half asleep. John watched him with interest. Seeing that his barista was now genuinely interested in what he had to say, Greg began to explain.

"Basically, I was waiting in the library before class; just me and couple of others from the team. Anyway, while I was in there this guy came in. He's never been one for talking, and he's managed to piss off every person going I think, but he was sitting there and grinning like a maniac at his coffee."

John nodded hurriedly. "And?"

"And then I asked him what he was smiling about." Greg continued, shrugging. "He said it was just good coffee, said that I should try it out, and try to be served by someone called Molly. Apparently, she keeps flirting with him, but he thinks we'd go together well. I don't know. Who'd have thought that Sherlock Holmes would even attempt at being a matchmaker?" He shook his head, laughing to himself. In front of him, John's eyes widened.

Throughout the few months he'd been taunting Sherlock, he'd never actually learned his surname. But then again he supposed that he'd never asked either.

"Wait, Sherlock Holmes?" He queried, trying to grab Greg's attention again. "Tall, cheekbones, always frowning?"

Greg pulled a face. "You know him?"

John nodded. "I write his name wrong on the cups to annoy him..." He thought to himself for a few moments, before Greg's laugh brought him back.

"That's you who does that?" He asked, wiping away a tear. "John, mate, you need to find another way to piss him off because he loves that."

Confused, John froze.

"What?"

"Whenever he has coffee from here, it's always the wrong name. You should see him in class. He sits there, drinking from his cup and smiling at the name whenever he sees it. It's quite funny to watch. Seb decided to ask him about it, but Seb's 'asking someone about it' is often mistaken for bullying, so we didn't find out any more about it. It happens a lot though." He smiled, finally deciding what drink he wanted, and completely oblivious as to John's reaction to the whole thing. "Can I have that £1.50 thing?"

John nodded quickly. "Yeah."

He was dumbstruck. Whenever he spelt Sherlock's name wrong, or just put an entirely different name altogether, Sherlock had always gotten infuriated. So now that Greg was here and telling him that Sherlock found it funny? Confusion wasn't the right word.

Some time passed, and Greg had left with the cheapest coffee on the board. John was still in a state of bewilderment as Sally approached him towards the end of his shift. He hadn't seen Sherlock once today.

"There's a break-up going on upstairs," she told him, slipping past as he set the blender going. "If you want to go and clear away some tables up there, I won't mind."

John grinned. He loved watching break-ups. They made a nice change from the busy business people and gossiping parents. "Excellent! You sure you don't mind?"

"Go on. You've worked hard. Enjoy your break-up."

One of the perks of working at Coffee Co. was that each day was different. Much the same as a GP may witness a wide variety illnesses; John's shifts brimmed with the unexpected.

Sure, there were times when John had seriously considered putting Harry's heavy metal playlist on the radio in exchange for the quirky underground music played on the record player, or had been even more careless still and had allowed a screaming seven-year-old more caffeine than he ought to have in a week. But those were the annoying occasions that came with every job, so John let them slide.

Break-ups were a regular occurrence. Sally always complained about them, because: "... They always use up half the napkins in the dispenser. Half! Do they need that many tissues? Seriously, I'm going to put a sign on the door saying 'If you're going to break up with your partner, bring your own tissues, or I'll personally sabotage all of your future relationships.' Honestly! It's like they don't understand that they're meant for coffee spillages..."

He would feel bad about enjoying watching them, and he always felt sorry for the people involved, but he had always been nosey, and he people's crying faces sent him into hysterics.

Arms laden with a bowl, spray and cloth, he carefully trod his way upstairs.

It didn't take him long to spot the soon-to-be-ended couple, with one of them being a bloke who'd John just served.

"Look... It's not-" 

"You're breaking up with me."

Although the second bloke in the party was facing the opposite way to John, he could quickly work out who it was. He gaped as he watched the head lower to rest on the owner's hands. He could recognise those curls anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Me again. So... What do you think? Any criticism at all is welcome, as it really helps me out and you can only learn from your mistakes, right? God these notes things are a bit awkward, aren't they? But anyway, yeah. Any criticism if you have it, positive or negative (although constructive would be seriously helpful). I'm going to go now because I'm waffling. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"You're breaking up with me."

Although the second bloke in the party was facing the opposite way to John, he could quickly work out who it was. He gaped as he watched the head lower to rest on the owner's hands. He could recognise those curls anywhere.

Suddenly, he felt like he was witnessing a severely private moment. For all of the times, he'd eavesdropped on these situations; none affected him more than the one playing out in front of him.

"It's not-"

A pang of guilt rattled John's whole body. He'd have never flirted with Sherlock if he'd have known he had a boyfriend. How could he have been so blind? Was that why Sherlock was so moody whenever he tried?

"It's not what?" Sherlock spat. "Working out? Is it not convenient for you? What?"

John wanted to sink into the shadows. For all the times Sherlock had been angry at him, this was nothing for what he was now. His voice was thick with malice, but the hurt stood out the most. John could feel his stomach drop. If not for watching the ending of what was once a very one-sided relationship, then for the fact that it was the guy he'd been taunting participating in the whole ordeal. Especially since was now evident that he knew it had been coming.

"Sherlock..." The man sitting opposite sighed, and a sudden hatred rose in John's stomach. How dare he break up with a person such as Sherlock? Did he know what he was doing?

"No, Victor. What is it?"

Victor (John made a mental note of his name), leant forward, wrapping his hands around the coffee cup that John had served him only a few minutes beforehand.

"Look, I appreciate the help you gave me with my Dad, I do." Sherlock leant back in his chair, folding his arms. "But I can't do this."

John wanted to punch him. He didn't know what Sherlock's lack of response meant, but he didn't like it.

"You're not- Sherlock, please look at me." Victor reached across, undoubtedly to lift Sherlock's chin away, but Sherlock pulled away before he had the chance. Suddenly, Victor flushed red.

"This is what I mean. You're too difficult. You're stubborn. I don't care if your parents don't mind the experiments you do; I almost threw up when I found that finger in your fridge."

Across the room, John snorted and then ducked quickly into one of the seats in case they heard him.

"You're temperamental. I can't decide if you're just beyond everyone else's intelligence or just plain rude. As I said, I do appreciate the help with my Dad. But you're weird, Sherlock. I can't deal with knowing that you know what I've been up to, with your deductions-"

Sherlock cut across him, back to facing him now.

"Like that time you came around drunk, stinking of your ex-girlfriend's perfume and I deduced that you'd been letting her suck your dick? Please," He scoffed, slouching further down in his chair. His voice was at a low mutter now, so much so that John had to strain to hear. "You had her lipstick all over your face. Any old idiot could have worked out what had happened. I'm surprised you thought you'd get away with it, unless..." His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Victor. "Oh my God. You were trying to give me a reason to leave you. You know Shannon only messages you because your dad is rich, right? Arthur bought her some of that bloody..." He waved his hand in the air. "Kanye West garbage clothe crap and do you know what she did? She sold it all on eBay. Don't blame her, to be honest; it's a shit brand. Me? I prefer Dolce and Gabbana." Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "It's funny. You run back to a woman because she's easy, but me? Why the fuck did you even entertain me if you hate me so much? Why does everyone hate me so much? Maybe you can shed some light on the subject seeing as you decided to take it one step further and made me feel like an idiot for loving you." Sherlock glared at him, voice shaking. "Fuck you, Victor. Fuck you and your dad and your fucking whore girlfriend."

If John had believed he couldn't feel more guilty, he was quickly learning that he was wrong. Despite having been cheated on, Sherlock still elected to stay with Victor. He wanted to wring his neck and tell him to turn it around and dump Victor before he dumped him.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me." John almost stumbled backwards as Victor started yelling. A few people turned around, trying to find the source of the shout. Sherlock meanwhile shrunk further into his seat, and John could see why he'd stayed. Victor was advancing on Sherlock, a cold hard rage of fury and Sherlock was cowering, shaking and flinching as Victor scaled the table. 

John had had enough.

Within an instant, he was in between the two of them and glaring up at the towering Victor.

"I'm sorry, sir." He began coolly. "But here at Coffee Co., we don't tolerate the harassment of our patrons in any way. Therefore, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Victor blinked at him. Watching the ordeal from behind John's back, Sherlock tugged on the knot of his apron.

"John," he whispered. "Drop it. It's fine."

"No, Sherlock," John replied, turning himself round slightly. "It's not fine." Sherlock slouched again, and John went back to facing Victor again. "Leave."

The colour drained from Victor's face, and John was left bewildered by his sudden change.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." He told him quietly, ignoring John and addressing the person behind. Sherlock nodded curtly, still holding onto the back of John. They watched as Victor left. As soon as he was gone, John wheeled around.

"Are you alright?" He asked quickly, crouching down so that he was level with Sherlock

"Me?" Sherlock started, taken aback. John rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you," John answered, frowning but slightly relieved all the same.

They stared at one another for a few moments, trying to take in what had just happened, before John broke into a smile.

"What?" Sherlock asked, noticing the sudden change as John stood up.

"You said my name. You called me John." He beamed, feeling euphoric all of a sudden.

"Well, that's your name, isn't it?" Sherlock replied, straightening up as the fear provoked by Victor faded. John sighed.

"I didn't know you knew it." He shuffled his feet a little, suddenly embarrassed by how pleased he was about it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course I do. You have it on your apron," he pointed towards the badge. "I can read, you know."

"Right," John paused. "Wait here." He quickly dashed off, leaving Sherlock in the chair.

A few moments later, he returned with the largest coffee they had going, along with an assortment of cakes and biscuits. He'd hurriedly explained to Sally that it was an unusual break-up, gave orders (despite her being his boss) to bar Victor permanently from Coffee Co., and had told her to take the cost of the food and drinks Sherlock had yet to pay for out of his wages.

Sherlock was still waiting for him when he returned, and he seemed to have brightened up a considerable amount too.

"Here we go." John grinned, placing the tray on the table and plonking himself in the armchair opposite. He picked up Sherlock's drink and handed it to him with a smile.

"I already have a drink," Sherlock told him, but John shrugged it off.

"You don't want that drink," he replied, pulling it away. "It's rubbish."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who made it."

"Yeah, but I didn't like the look of that Victor guy, so I spat in the cup." He reasoned, and Sherlock's eyes widened. "I didn't really- here." He laughed, before putting the drink in Sherlock's hands. "Try it. Tell me what you think."

Tentatively, Sherlock brought the cup to his mouth and sipped it. His face was an absolute picture.

"It's, um..." John laughed as Sherlock put it down. "It's a bit eccentric." He said, deciding that that was the right word to use.

"It's that drink you asked me to make the other day," John grinned, watching as Sherlock put it down. "I managed to perfect it. Tastes like shit, don't you think?"

He took it off him before replacing it with another one, this time one that he was meant to drink. Sherlock accepted it gladly as John took up his own.

The pair of them sat there for a while. John's shift ended, and he was fairly sure that Sherlock had missed his first class of the day. But still, they remained, sitting in the squishy armchairs and drinking coffee, smiling small smiles at one another as they did so.

"You see those two people sitting over there?" Sherlock pointed to a couple sitting a few feet away, and John craned his neck to get a better look.

"Yeah?"

"He has two wives, and she is already having several affairs."

John started. "How do you...?"

Sherlock grinned, putting his cup down and glancing back over at the pair.

"His clothes are well looked after. Look at them. It's all ironed. Typically, if a man is going to iron at all, it's going to be for a formal occasion. Weddings, funerals; more are ironing their clothes for work now, but it's still quite a low percentage. But he's wearing casual clothes. Jeans, of course, don't need to be ironed, but a t-shirt? He's ironed them, and thoroughly. His jacket has been too."

"But that might just mean he likes ironing things or just likes to make himself look presentable." John pointed out, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Tan lines on his finger from where his wedding ring has been. But there are two lines, one showing a much more pale band and the other not so much. He has two wedding rings. Obviously he has them both off right now, otherwise how else would he be chatting up our adulterer?

"One of the wives lives abroad, which is how he's managed to juggle them both. You can tell because of the thinner tan in more prominent. The weather here is appalling at the moment; there's no way he could have managed to get a tan like that here. The thicker one is for his wife here, and the thinner for the woman abroad. His tan gets topped up while he's away visiting her."

John was listening in awe. "But what about the woman? How can you tell?"

Sherlock smirked.

"Look at her phone. Face down on the table. Could be a sign of respect, but it isn't. The phone facing upwards would indicate that she's much more interested in the phone than the person talking. However, if she wanted to give him her undivided attention she'd have put it in her bag. No, she's glued to it. Since I've been sitting here, I've heard it go off several times, with different vibrations for each one. Now really, who has the time, patience and concentration to sit there and work out a different vibration for each of their contacts?"

"It's only the select few for who she's done that. Some of them have been the same, but it hasn't been the same person each time. She needs a way of distinguishing who each person is without a clear ringtone difference; otherwise, that may give the game away. With all the facts I've just pointed out to you, the most likely case scenario is that she currently has numerous people texting her, and the man sitting in front of her is just another to add to the list."

He stopped, had some of his drink and began playing with a lone crumb on the table. John was in awe.

"That was brilliant..." He breathed, wide-eyed as he gazed in disbelief at the incredible teenager sitting opposite.

"It was?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.

"Of course it was! How? That was incredible. How do you do that?" John questioned, leaning forward like an eager child waiting to hear where his parents had booked for their holiday.

"It's urgh," Sherlock scratched the back of his head, and John could see that he was embarrassed. "It's called deduction... You make conclusions, or deductions, based on facts. It's not that hard."

John flopped back into his chair, grinning as he watched Sherlock crush the crumb with his thumb.

As silence settled again, the conversation, he'd overheard with Victor, resurfaced. Was that one of those deductions that he'd thought was weird? That creeped him out? Anger bubbled up inside John again, and another reason as to why he wanted to punch the guy joined the bottom of a rapidly growing list.

For some time more they sat in silence. Until eventually, however, Sherlock decided to break it. John watched him as the build up to the question began, trying to work out what was going to be said.

"Why are you nice to me?" Sherlock asked, taking another sip of his almost empty drink. John shrugged, slightly put out and pulling his mug away from his mouth. How little did Sherlock think of himself?

"Because you look like someone who needs someone to be nice to them." He replied honestly, which caused Sherlock to frown.

"But I'm horrible to you." Sherlock began, sighing and sinking in his chair. "All you ever did was try to be friendly, and I returned it by being vile. Now you're here bringing me coffee. You watched Victor break-up with me, and you don't even know why he did. You should see me as that miserable git who always moans at you, not as someone who you feel you ought to be friendly."

John hung his head. "Sherlock, I didn't know you had a boyfriend. All those times I was writing your name wrong to annoy you, I was trying to flirt. I just wanted to see you smile. It's got nothing to do with me being nice to you. All those other times, I wanted to see just how pissed off you could get. But every day you kept coming back. Even when I-" he stopped, watching as Sherlock stood up.

"Where're you going?" He asked, rising from his chair and blinking as Sherlock pulled on his scarf.

"I have a class in ten minutes," Sherlock told him, grabbing his coat now too.

John felt like a weight had dropped in his stomach.

"So you're leaving, then?" He couldn't hide the dying hope in his voice as Sherlock threw his coat over his shoulders.

Sherlock nodded and didn't say another word as he rushed off down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try saying crushing a crumb with his thumb three times fast. I'm sorry about these slight cliffhangers. They just seem to pop out of nowhere. I really can't thank you all enough for reading and supporting this fic, and the bloody problematic characters that come with it. Seriously. So yeah. Thank you so much! I'll probably be posting the last chapter tomorrow with any luck. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Days passed, and John didn't see anything, nor hear a word from Sherlock. Needless to say, he was somewhat pissed off. Sherlock liked the whole name game; John knew that; they'd even tried to hook up the same people! John had put himself in between Sherlock and a guy who looked like he could quite easily take him out with one punch, and how had Sherlock replayed him? By leaving. What a joke.

On the following Friday evening, John bumped into Greg. Or rather, Greg worked his way into Coffee Co. while it wasn't busy, and John had taken up another shift. By this stage, Greg had acquired Molly's number but was still tentative about calling. His whole fearfulness over the situation made John want to be sick, and maybe also shout at him until his voice went.

"I just... I don't know. She gave me her number, and I gave her mine, but that was two days ago. Should I text her now?" John rolled his eyes as he continued to clean the counter. "But anyway," Greg continued, launching into a new topic of conversation. "I bet it's been quiet around here, what with no Sherlock to tease."

At this, John looked up.

"What do you mean?" He quizzed, putting down the tea towel. Greg looked confused.

"He hasn't been in all week. I think he might have the flu or something." Greg took another swig of his coffee (having now gone for one that cost £2.50) and stretched. "Anyway," he glanced at his watch, unaware of the overwhelming scenes and scenarios rattling through John's head. "What time does this place shut?"

'He hasn't been to college, so that means he's not avoiding me. But why would he not go to college? What if Victor has done something to him? What if-.'

"John?" Greg asked, frowning. John immediately snapped out of his mental question frenzy.

"Sorry. Um, half an hour? I've got to shut up tonight, so I'll probably leave a bit later than that."

"Alright," Greg nodded. Suddenly, a smile split across his mouth as he pulled out his phone, but it died in an instant. "Shit... Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead."

Shrugging, John retreated to the back room and acquired his phone, before handing it over to Greg. "What do you want it for?" He asked, watching as Greg typed in a number.

"Telling Molly that I'm going to pick her up in half an hour," Greg informed him, grinning down at John's phone. He sent it and handed the mobile back over. John stuffed it into his pocket, jealously coursing through him. At least he had the person he liked's number.

"Thanks," he took one last swig from his cup before flashing John a smile. "Talk to you tomorrow? You're coming to that party, yeah?" John nodded as Greg pulled open the door and left.

The silence was deafening. Over the doorway, the bell seemed muffled as it rang lazily in Greg's departure.

As evening rolled into night, the whole atmosphere changed. Maybe because he was the only one in there, but more likely because the machines were off.

Deciding that he had nothing else better to do, John began to clear away several of the tables and rearranging the chairs from when people had moved them during the day. As he passed, he flicked on the grammar phone just so as to break the silence. Carefully selecting a vinyl disc and placing it gently down in the record player, he listened to the soothing crackle start up, before settling once again into his cleaning routine.

However, his apparent solitude didn't last for long as he felt his phone go off in his pocket. Leaning his mop against the table, he unlocked it.

It was a simple, one worded text from an unsaved number.

21:37 - Coffee?

John frowned. Nobody in their right mind would offer to take someone out for coffee at this time of night, let alone him. It was probably a prank. But he texted back anyway.

21:38 - Who is this?

He put the phone down and continued to mop the floor. However, a few moments later his phone was vibrating again.

21:40 - Are you still at Coffee Co.?

21:41 - Yes. Who is this?

Although a small voice in the back of John's mind told him that he could have just told a potential murderer (because why not jump to the worst case scenario?) where he was, something told him to stick with it.

He sat down eventually, bored out of his brain and sprawled with his legs over the armchair of a seat at the back of the room. There was no need to be stationed behind the counter; there would be no more customers tonight. Although...

The gentle chime of the bell over the soft hum of the music caused John to look up towards the doorway, and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't surprised about who he saw standing there.

Sherlock was stamping his feet on the welcome mat, the tip of his nose tinged pink from the cold. John sat up, dragging his legs to the front of the chair and watching the newcomer intently.

Sensing that someone was watching him, Sherlock looked up. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then proceeded to open it once more. At last, when he did start talking, John hadn't expected to hear the words he did.

"Are you angry?" Sherlock asked, turning very still and watching John closely. John blinked.

"No?" He tried, but that was apparently the wrong answer as Sherlock immediately looked at the ground beneath his feet. "No! I'm not angry. Why should I be angry?"

Of course, he knew why he ought to be angry. He was livid. But Sherlock looked so defeated that he really couldn't say anything else.

"Because I left, and then didn't talk to you for a week," Sherlock stated, and John raised his eyebrow.

"You were ill," John reasoned, "you can't help being ill." Although now he said it, Sherlock seemed even more confused than he was.

"I wasn't ill," he told him, frowning. "I was sorting everything out with Victor." John glared.

"Sherlock, if you've gone back to him I swear... He would have beaten you up if I hadn't been there to stop him. Please don't tell me you've gone back to him." Now, Sherlock looked quite frankly offended.

"I haven't gone back to Victor!" He implored, half laughing. "Not even close. I got everything of mine in his possession, gave all of his stuff back, and I've just come back from the police station, where I told them about his drug dealing tendencies. I haven't gone back to him."

Relief seeped into John's veins, and he ran up to him, hugging him tightly. Sherlock took a couple of steps backwards.

"John? What're you-"

"You're a twat," John told him, pulling away. "You're an absolute bloody idiot. How could you have stayed with him for so long? That's- what the hell, Sherlock?"

Sherlock faltered.

"Can I explain?" Sherlock asked quickly, taking John's hand and pulling him towards a table. They separated and sat down, with John waiting with baited breath.

"Right." Sherlock began, taking his gloves off and settling them on the table in front of him. "I met Victor a while ago before I started coming here. His Dad was having problems, and I managed to help out. Anyway, his Dad eventually died. He was awful. When his Dad was alive, Victor was great. He listened, and he showed an interest in me, he was one of the only people I knew who would tolerate me. But then his Dad died, he changed completely.

"I'd already had a dabble in drugs, but Victor took it to a whole new level. Depression set in, and eventually, he became so despondent that there was nothing I could do to get him up in the morning. What was I supposed to do? I was 16 when I helped him with his Dad, and he was 17. But I was in year 11, and he in year 13. I'm 18 now, and he's just turned 20."

John listened with open ears. Silently speechless as he took in everything Sherlock was telling him. John didn't feel sorry for all those times he had tried to pry a smile anymore; John was glad that he did. They were probably all he had. That and his coffee.

"Anyway, he did eventually start to improve. I managed to convince his doctor to put him on antidepressants, and it was all going well until he began to hang around other people. Instead of getting happier, he was getting darker, and finding comfort in it.

"He began to lose his temper more quickly. He was so tolerant before, never really minding what I did, but then his patience went, and so did his- I'm sorry."

John had been watching Sherlock throughout the whole of his explanation, but it was only now that he realised that Sherlock was very close to tears.

"Hey..." He reached over and rubbed Sherlock's arm. "You don't have to talk about it. He's gone now. You'll never have to look at his sorry face ever again."

He stood up and worked his way around to the back of Sherlock's chair. "Come on... Calm down. He's gone. You're fine. Here," he reached over to the counter and grabbed a handful of napkins. Sally was going to kill him.

"Thanks." Sherlock nodded, accepting them and rubbing his nose. "That's what happened. I got everything sorted, and now I'm here. I got Greg to text me your number..."

"Wait," John cut across him. "Greg? What does Greg have to do with anything?" He was now pleased to see that Sherlock was smiling again, having taken his mind off Victor.

"I told him about the situation," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly. "And he agreed to help. He used your phone to text 'Molly', but he was texting me to let me know when you'd be out. See?"

He rummaged around in his pocket before pulling out his phone and held it out for John to read.

'Hi, it's Greg. I'll pick you up at 10 pm, maybe a bit later. See you later.'

"He told me what time you shut and what time you were going to leave," Sherlock said, smiling. "It was quite amusing really."

"Or," John continued. "You could have just asked me for my number on one of the hundreds of times you've had the chance, or got Greg to give it to you so that you could've just texted me and asked." He pointed out, and Sherlock pulled a face, his usual, buoyant self slowly coming back.

"That would've spoiled some of the fun." He frowned, nose crinkling.

John smiled, laughing to himself as Sherlock put his phone away.

"So, now what?" Sherlock asked, looking up at John. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I am obnoxious and stubborn, and all of those things Victor said I was. Do you want me to help you shut up the café for the night?" He looked around at the surrounding room. As John watched him, an idea popped into his head.

"I want you to teach me how to dance." He told him, deciding that that was the route he wanted to go down. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"Dance?" He repeated, confused.

"Yep," John nodded, taking Sherlock by the hands and pulling him up. Sherlock wriggled out of his coat and scarf, dumping them on the chair before holding onto John's hands again.

"Why?"

"Why not?" John retorted, eyes twinkling as he led Sherlock to the centre of the room. Sherlock shrugged.

"Alright then... Put your hand on my waist..." Sherlock carefully took John's hand and placed it just above his hipbone. Beneath the coarse cotton material, John could feel Sherlock's movements, more noticeable now that he was swaying him in time to the gentle lull of the music.

He felt as though he were dreaming. After months of leaning over the counter, attempting to pry even the tiniest smile from the scowling face: he had at last made progress. And it was more than he could ever have hoped.

A small part of him did feel bad about it, though. Some may see it as taking advantage, but he wasn't doing that at all. Sherlock apparently wanted to spend time with him, either in a romantic relationship or just as friends, so who was John to prevent that? Besides, Sherlock had had a rough week; this was what he needed.

Although, while their feet began moving, his shoulder starting burning as Sherlock's hand came to rest upon it, but he continued none the less. Fireworks were going off in his mind, celebrating his achievement. He'd finally done it. Slowly, his eyes strayed from where his hand sat; across Sherlock's torso; where it eventually came to rest in the shadows beneath his chin. It was bliss.

"You're getting the hang of it quite quickly," Sherlock reasoned, nodding and smiling down at John where he swayed. "Still a bit awkward with the feet, but if you practice you should be alright."

John grinned. "Oh yeah?" He asked, the mischievous edge to his voice coming flooding back. "Who am I supposed to practice with?" He looked up quizzically, raising his eyebrows as his hand slipped slowly behind Sherlock's back, pulling him closer.

"Girlfriend? I don't know. You'll find someone though." Sherlock shrugged, growing aware of John's tactics but still falling prey to them all the same. "It shouldn't be too difficult for you," he continued, working himself closer to the blonde as their feet narrowly dodged one another. "Anyone who makes a decent enough coffee is sure to find themselves, someone..."

Tables and chairs seemed to jump aside as they passed, not wanting to get in the way of their dancing. On the farthest corner of the room, the old vinyl disc crackled merrily as the needle ran across it. Sherlock and John stood mere centimetres apart now, glowing in the warmth created by each other's company.

"True," John agreed, nodding slowly. "Although, I think the same can be said for brilliant college students with hidden smiles, and an overwhelming knack for pissing people off better than any other bloke I know, including myself."

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" He began, arching his back slightly as John's hand slipped under his shirt. In front of him, John smiled lightly at the reaction, watching as a look of blissful content washed over Sherlock's features and he relaxed into John's hold once again. Apparently, this was as overwhelming for Sherlock as it was for him.

"Yeah," John confirmed, pulling Sherlock closer in towards him. "He's arrogant but oddly charming. You come within his company for a few short moments, and soon enough you'll find yourself hating to love him." He smiled. High tidal waves of wanted nausea flooding through his stomach as Sherlock somehow managed to close the gap further. Centimetres quickly turned to millimetres, but John still found his want to get closer overwhelming.

"Maybe I should meet him one day," Sherlock suggested. His voice was barely above a whisper as he leant into John's ear. Internally, John was doing backflips. If it weren't for Sherlock's tight hold on him, he feared that he might have already fallen. "Discover his brilliance myself..."

"You could," John shrugged, propping himself up on his tiptoes so as to reach Sherlock's ear better. "But I don't want to share."

Whatever Sherlock was going to say was cut off in an instant as John freed his other hand from Sherlock's shoulder, grabbed hold of his collar and pulled him down to his level, dropping back onto his heels.

At first, John was apprehensive. Despite the fact that he'd been the one to start it in the first place. A startled face stared back at him as John leant forward, and he gulped. What if this wasn't what Sherlock wanted? What if this were just another trick for all the times he'd pissed him off over coffee? Because, knowing Sherlock, that was probably something he'd do.

Questions of doubt began firing themselves at John, and he felt as though his heart had turned to lead as each one wagered at being more likely than the last. However, any worries were cast aside as Sherlock's lips broke the minute gap between them, and pressed themselves hard against his own, kissing him back furiously.

John's hand left Sherlock's collar and snaked around his neck, with the other quickly following suit. He felt weightless. As though he were floating on a cloud that would only appear when Sherlock had his lips pressed against his. It didn't take him long to realise that the immediate cause of the weightlessness was Sherlock hoisting him into the air; carrying him briskly over to one of the chairs, and kissing him fervently on every area of skin he could reach while doing so. John's coffee stained apron quickly found itself thrown across the room, and in quick succession, Sherlock's suit jacket joined it.

John wasn't paying attention as his legs wrapped themselves around Sherlock's middle, or when the gentle thud told him that Sherlock was at last seated, with him sitting squarely on his lap, plastering him in kisses. He didn't know anything else. All he knew was that Sherlock was going to have a purplish pink bruise underneath his jawline pretty soon.

But no matter how much they wanted to, they'd have to save the rest for later. After all, it's not exactly hygienic to fuck in a coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it! Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting (I absolutely love reading them).  
> Massive thank you to @moriartys.crown.jewels on Instagram, who put up with my constant texts of despair, and also to @221bowtie (also Instagram), for helping me out too. You're both brilliant.  
> Urm... Yeah. I think that's about everything. I really don't know about men and ironing, I just kinda looked at my Dad and brother, who only ever iron things for funerals. Fun stuff.  
> Anyway, thank you all so much. I wanted to finish this by the time I started college myself, otherwise it could have potentially gone on longer.  
> But I think that's about everything now, although I also really think you ought to get yourself down to your independent coffee shops. Just saying. I'm waffling now. Bye!  
> \- indigospacehopper


	6. Author's Note

Hi. Long time no writing. 

It's slightly strange posting this, simply because it's been so long since I last posted anything on this website - but here's the thing: I am in desperate need of money, and have near impossible means of getting any. I have a job working in a bar, but the pay is minimal and my hours are atrocious with no hope of picking up more shifts. Doing a two-hour shift before being sent home to save labour is not an uncommon occurrence. I did have a more stable job with regular hours, but it's closed for refurbishment during summer without offering any of the part-time staff pay. They still currently owe me £170.

The reason for this sudden need for cash comes in the form of the wonderful money-pit that is me starting university. I'm beginning my first-year in September (to do a course in Creative Writing combined with Literature, funnily enough), but I need money available for my first few weeks before my student loan becomes available. London is expensive, and while my parents will help me, I don't want to burden them with my money problems while they have things going on themselves. 

So, I'm offering up fanfic commissions because that's probably the only thing I know how to do. The prices have been based off the minimum wage for my age group (18) in the UK, which is a whopping £5.60 an hour. The cost will, therefore, run like this:

500 words - approximately 20 minutes of writing - £1.40  
750 words - approximately 30 minutes of writing - £2.80  
1000 words - approximately 40 minutes of writing - £4.20  
1500 words - approximately 60 minutes of writing - £5.60

5,000 words - approximately 3.75 hours of writing - £21  
10,000 words - approximately 7.5 hours of writing - £42  
15,000 words - approximately 10 hours of writing - £56  
20,000 words - approximately 13.75 hours of writing - £77

Every 500 words cost approximately £1.40.

The deposit on my accommodation will set me back £250; I simply do not have that money, and there's no chance of me getting it before the payment is due in August. If 90 people commission me for a 750-word fic, I will have enough to pay for it. 

If you have any questions regarding this, please don't hesitate to message me. You can do so on here, or: 

Instagram: @/langyfod  
@/sherloco_in_the_coco  
Email: nat.98.lang@googlemail.com (iMessage works too)

Please try to spread this if you can. Any commissions would be better than none at all.

The fandoms I would be willing to write are:

Sherlock (BBC/RDJ/ACD - any pairing)  
Harry Potter (inc. Fantastic Beasts - any pairing)   
MCU (any pairing)

Thank you!

Natalie


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